Obviously
by BakerStreetKid
Summary: John and Mary's child was abandoned after Mary's sudden death 17 years ago. Grace Watson, has now grown up, and has some burning questions to ask. After being raised by Greg and Molly, Grace has still been kept in the dark. But now she wants to know. Why was she left? and who is her mother? Johnlock & Molstrade :) Please rate and review!
1. Chapter 1

**Hi Guys! So this is just an idea that formed in a dream, but I didn't think it was too bad, please review! I want to try and upload every week but don't hold me to it! **

**I don't own Sherlock (even though I wished I did) or any of the characters or script! Enjoy lovelies!**

Chapter 1.

Grace Watson glared out of her apartment window to see another ominous gloomy Monday morning in London. It was strangely picturesque, the way the sky met the buildings, but the worry of the forthcoming evening seemed to dawn on this large city. She did not want this day to begin. She just wanted it to end. It wasn't what most people would call a particularly bad day, as she loved her job working as a primary teacher , the different children she got to meet and work with- it was after that when the hell begun.

'Don't worry about it' Her gorgeous yet sleepy boyfriend said to her as he embraced her from behind. He nuzzled hr neck as he said 'Don't worry honey, everything will be fine.'

'Jamie, you don't understand. I've never met this man before. He left me stranded, why shouldn't I?'

'Leave him stranded?' Jamie giggled 'I know you are cold hearted but you could never be that mean Grace.' He handed her a black coffee, and shoved a piece of toast in her mouth. 'Don't worry. Now go to work.'

She left her house smiling, no beaming, nobody was as lucky as her, she had Jamie. Her gorgeous boyfriend/partner/what ever you call him and I think he is fabulous type of person. And she loved him. The issue with being adopted was you never felt loved, you felt a coldness when others felt joy. Even though she had never met her father, she still took his name. It didn't feel right not to. She walked along her road until she reached the train station. It was a short walk from her house to the train station, it was easier than taking a car. As she was on the train, she pondered about this evening, after about half an hour of pondering, stressing and worrying she decided to call her Mum. Well not her real Mum. Her adopted Mum, but she loved her even more, for loving a broken child.

'Molly Hooper speaking' Her mum always answered like this, even if she saw who was ringing. After 20 years she still picked up her phone with the same reply.

'Mum, it's me.'

'What is it Grace? I can tell your stressed. You know what I'll call John and I'll cance-'

'Mum, you don't have to cancel this. I just need advice.'

'Advice? Grace the man is your biological father, not your date. I don't think you need advice.'

This was true. But she carried on with her point.

'Yes. But how do I talk to him'

'Preferably like a Human, Grace.'

'Yes, thanks mum, is their anything to avoid?'

'Mary.'

'Sorry?'

'Nothing. Just be yourself Grace.'

'Ok. Bye Mum'

'Love you Darling, be safe'

'Love you too.'

She hung up even more stressed than before. There is nothing to worry about. There is nothing to worry about. She kept repeating in her mind. But, with every sentence she became queasy and nervous. And at the last stop, she brought up her breakfast.

Grace Watson lay on her sofa feeling ill. Every time she thought about the coming evening she felt sick. Everytime she tried to think about anything else, she felt sick. It wasn't good. Jamie had headed out to work earlier than usual to sort out something in the restaurant. Her Mum, was working and couldn't get time off and her adopted father Greg, said he would try, but their was no sign. Gazing at her phone with weary eyes she started to text Jamie when she heard a rumble of talking downstairs. Ignoring this, she continued to text Jamie, and then tried to sleep- her dad always said that sleep made everything better, but as the noise seemed to get louder, sleep alluded her, taunting her, but not coming any closer. Exhaustion, was a bitch. It was then, she heard a knock on her door.

'Who is it?' She called, with no energy to release herself from the clutches of the sofa.

'It's the police. I'm here to speak with Grace Watson.'

'I'm ill. Is their any other time?'

'Sorry Miss we need to see you'

'The doors open, please come in.'

'SURPRISE' Her father shouted at the top of his lungs. 'I took the day off today to look after you. I'm sure the world can solve crimes by itself'

'Oh really?'

'Right here's the file.' He handed over a file bursting at the seems with papers and pictures.

'Asphyxiation'

'Jesus Grace you didn't even look at the file.'

'You can see from the picture, look'

Gregory Lestrade looked closely at the picture. 'I can see that now. You are smart, I'm so proud of you'

'Dad, thank you. But why did you come over today'

'Well a few things. I bought some chicken soup for you, because I know that's all you can eat when you don't feel ill, this case to take your mind off things and talk about tonight' He brooded over his reply with an anxious face, the lines that had once been formed by this look had stayed put and his once black hair had been shoot with thousands of grey hairs, he cared about his daughter more than anything, he cared when no-body else did, he was the one who made her trust again, who made her love once more, she owed him the world and couldn't repay him.

'Oh. What about tonight?'

'I want to take you to 221b Baker Street'

'Why?'

'Well for a few reasons A. That's were John lives and I want to see if you will be OK and B. I need to talk to Sherlock.'

'Who's Sherlock?' She asked innocently.

'A name you didn't hear from me' Greg replied with a smile and kissed on the cheek and left.

Why were they hiding this man?

**I hoped you liked this first chapter! Please let me know what you think, also follow me on instragram bakerstreetkid xoxo**


	2. Chapter 2

The long ride to 221b Baker street was nauseating for Grace Watson. Even though she had faint memories of her father, she had never felt the closeness that she had always felt towards Greg. John Watson, had left his little girl when she was 8 years old. She ran to Greg with a battered suitcase and a teddy, both of which had been soaked in the rain. She would never forget that day. The girls at school made fun of her because her dad had left her, they taunted her, pinched and played, this continuously left a question in her mind, why would he give me up? Throughout her teenage years, she blamed everything on John, the fact she wasn't popular or pretty, that no-one liked here, that she had no friends. Her Mum was a great believer in 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger', then I must be the strongest, she thought, because she had been so close to death so many times.

'Dad?' She asked to Greg who was driving their family car.

'What is it Grace?'

'Can we stop here for a moment please?'

'Ok. Whats wrong'

She stopped and got out of the car, and for the first time in her life, she had fainted.

* * *

Grace Watson woke up on a red chair with a strange tartan pattern placed over it, where am I? She thought, as she looked around to take in her surroundings, she had seen the place her Dad, Greg had described to her so many times. The patterned brown wall paper with a yellow smiley face graffiti-ed on to it, which she noticed has been shot through multiple times- in a V, as she looked at it more closely 'Victoria' she muttered to herself and giggled, oh the irony.

'Is anyone there?' She had called.

'Oh Hello. You must be Grace, John's gone out to get some milk, can I get you a cup of tea?' A kind-faced woman looked at her with a smile stretched across her face.

'Yes please, sorry Dad, I mean Greg didn't mention who you were.' Grace replied.

'Oh I'm sorry, I'm Mrs. Hudson, I'm the landlady, not the housekeeper for your Father, John.' Mrs. Hudson replied.

'He's not my father, he's just a man who gives me 23 chromosomes through a reproductive organ, Greg is my Father, Mrs. Hudson. John is just a man.'

'I'm sorry to hear that Grace, you know you look just like your mother.' Mrs. Hudson replied.

'Who was my mother?' Grace asked again. After a small gasp from the landlady, she asked again, 'Mrs. Hudson, who was my mother?'

'I think John should answer that one for you, Grace Watson, or do you go by Lestrade now?' Another voice entered the room, he was quite tall, but by the looks of him, wished he was taller, well by the looks of his coat. He had curly brown hair, much like hers, with puzzling sky blue eyes.

'Sherlock' Greg growled in a low voice tone.

And for the second time in her life, Grace Watson fainted.

* * *

'Grace?' Greg shook her. 'Gracie, please wake up.'

'Greg, give her some room' A strange voice replied.

'Gavin, I would listen to John' Another strange voice replied.

'For Gods sake Sherlock! My name is Greg.' Her father replied, she struggled to smile.

'Boys! Boys! Stop quarreling! Look, she's blinking.' Mrs. Hudson put an end to their argument. 'I'll go make some tea.' So the little landlady scurried off to the kitchen.

'Dad' She said with barely a whisper as she looked at Greg. However, this reply was snatched from him, by the man with curly hair.

'Miss. Watson, how's your boyfriend, his restaurant must be doing very well, I say this because a Primary School teacher's pay isn't much, is it? Or do you have debt. Otherwise it makes it impossible to buy that new dress, obviously designer. And I trust your holiday to Guatemala was good- How is your brother?'

'Who the fuck are you?' She replied.

'LANGUAGE!' Greg shouted. 'You may be 26 Grace Watson, but we both know we don't use words like that.'

'Dad. Now is not the time. Who is this man?' She annouciated every word as if it could be her last.

'Why don't you ask him that?' Greg's voice rising in the anger she knew far too well, his short temper was known in their household. Her Mum didn't buy any expensive vases anymore, like she used to- since Greg had got his promotion, more things were broken every day.

She brushed aside this thought and concentrated on the thought at hand.

Grace Watson turned to the man in front of her.

'Who. Are. You?' Each word she spat into his hair.

As she said this, the man turned his coat collar up and smiled, 'The name is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi guys! So I hope you are enjoying this FanFic! I'm really not sure when to end it so let me know! I have some idea of what will happen but it will probably all change so be prepared.. By the way, I'm going on holiday on the 16th so I won't be updating for a week!**

Grace Watson stared at this man who he declared to be Sherlock Holmes. She knew the name.. Holmes. Holmes. Charlotte?

'Wait a second. Lottie Holmes.. Do you know Lottie Holmes? Mycroft Holmes' daughter.' She asked.

'Charlotte.' Sherlock murmured. 'How do you know Charlotte? Unless.. Ahaha, brilliant.. You are smart-'

Grace shot a look at Greg as Sherlock rambled on, she finally caught focus when he asked:

'Was it in you left or your right leg?' She stared at him.

'What did you just say?' She queried

'The oesteosarcoma, did they amputate your right or left leg?'

'The left. How do you know this?'

'Oh, Miss Watson, don't act like that- You're just like your mother, Mary would be proud.' He walked up to her, noticing her features more, her natural dark curly hair had been dyed a bleach blonde, much like Mary's, except it was longer and wavy, she had the same eyes, nose and teeth, yet, she had John's face, the kindness radiating from her face. She was slightly small, but she was armed- an armed teacher? That wasn't right, she was small in stature, but yet she was taller than John. Was Grace Watson who she really is, or do we have another one? He cast he thoughts back to the day he discovered A.G.R.A, Amelia-Grace Rose Arlington. The true Mary Watson.

'Who's Mary?' She asked. She waited for the man to answer her, she looked lost.

This time John answered, 'Mary Elizabeth Morstan, or Amelia-Grace Rose Arlington, was your mother.'

'Two names. She had two names.' She replied, trying to fathom the possibilities.

'And what's your second name Miss Watson?' Sherlock asked her, sitting her down on a small wooden chair. 'What's your name Miss. Watson.'

'My name is Grace Mary Watson. That is it.' She replied, looking rather uncomfortable in her chair.

'And your other name.' He stared at her, this was before he slapped her.

'SHERLOCK' Greg and John both yelled. 'She's my daughter' They scorned him in unison, which of course led to an argument.

But what they didn't notice, was as he slapped her, Sherlock whipped the gun from it's holster and aimed it at her.

'WHAT. IS. YOUR. OTHER. NAME?' He bellowed.

She shook her head as Sherlock aimed the gun.

**I hoped you liked that segment! Please review! I love hearing your praises and your criticism, just ask for an more plot lines which you think would be good! Thank you xoxo**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry I haven't posted this week I was on holiday! Please review! I need your advice! **

The blood from her head wound trickled down her face. How could her Dad do this to her? Greg, had always been there. When she was 7 years old, she had nothing. She didn't have a mother, and she didn't have a father who wanted her. What was she to do? Greg and Molly took her in. They looked after her. They cleaned every scrape on her knee, they supported her choices and they met her boyfriends (well, just Jamie, but still, she felt this was important). But all of a sudden this man claiming to be Sherlock Holmes had chucked her Dad, and her biological father out the door, while he tried to get scraps of information off of her. It had now been 20 minutes. 20 minutes, to familiar herself with these new surroundings. 20 minutes, to try and get out. Every minute, was not one of anger, but one of preparation.

At 25 minutes exactly, he entered the room, bearing what seemed like a teapot and cups, emblazoned with the flag of what was the united kingdom.

'Shame Scotland left.' He announced. 'It's ruined a valuable set of crockery.'

'I never thought they would leave.'

'What you say doesn't matter. You were only 5 at the time.' He replied snarkly.

'Age isn't important, .' Her reply had more vim and vigor- as if it was some sort of contest.

'What an excellent memory you have Miss Watson.'

'Well observed Mr. Holmes. There is no need to inform me that you are the same.'

'CIA or FSB?' He blurted, aiming the teapot at her head instead of the gun.

'Like that is going to do much.' She pointed out blatantly.

He scoffed, laughing out loud before smashing it on her collarbone. 'Oh really Miss. Watson'

'TELL ME WHO YOU WORK FOR!'

'NO!' She screamed with a brutal agony. 'I will never say a word. You wouldn't kill me.'

'Oh really Miss. Watson, because it looks like I've just broken your collarbone.' He spoke without sentiment or kindness, just sheer brilliance and obtuseness.

'Why don't you just call me Grace? And of course you've broken my bloody collar bone and your fucking tea-pot.' She spat the final sentence with such idiosyncrasies.

'Because you aren't Grace. You are not that little girl who loved her father. You are not the little girl who loved her mother. You are not that sweet little girl who wanted to be like her Godfather. You are not Grace Watson. You may take her name, her face, her body and her mannerisms. But you are not the Grace Watson. The Grace Watson is kind, caring and thoughtful. You are not the Grace Watson I know.'

'PEOPLE CHANGE.'

'Grace Watson wouldn't. So tell me what your name is and who you work for.'

'No.'

'No?' He spoke this with a thought of intelligence. 'Right then.' He briskly grabbed his iPhone out of his pocket and dialed the number.

_Sherlock: John, _he spoke softly, _how are you?'_

_John: Not great actually. Greg's in hospital. He got hit by a fucking car._

_Sherlock: I'll be right down... Actually. Give me a minute._

_John: Sherlock. Please don't hurt my baby girl._

_Sherlock: Never._

He hung up the phone. 'Your Dad is in hospital.'

'Greg? I have to get there.' She looked down at her pockets until she reached her phone. 'Will you let me go?'

He shook his head.

'I will tell you if you let me go.'

'OK. Tell me then.'

'My real name is Grace Mary Watson. I work for the FSB, so I have cover names. Only when I speak to family my name is Grace. Any other time, I will go by the name Bronte Charlotte Grayson, she was my best friend in high school until she died from cancer aged 15.'

'Anything else.'

'I don't remember anything from my childhood. My last memory was going to Greg and Molly when I was 7. I owe them my life. And my childhood.'

'Thank you, Miss Grayson. So you don't remember me at all.'

She shook her head.

* * *

**I hope you like that segment! I needed dialogue to help the story move along. I will probably focus on the past in the next two chapters. Thinkages? Just review :) Thank you! xx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to AngryHobbit for pointing out how confusing this chapter was! I tend to just write down what's going on, then skim out any mistakes- so I re-read and realized it went too fast. So I decided to delete the last chapter and write a better one, hoping it will be somewhat more successful :) Thank you for reviewing and reading! It makes my day to see all your lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy!**

William Sherlock Scott Holmes was staring prominently at Grace Watson, like trying to make a snake move at a zoo.

After John had realized what Sherlock had done, he rushed Grace to the hospital. So Sherlock begrudgingly stayed with her while she slept.

He assessed every part of her. Every line in her skin, every scar. Her lips were painted a blush colour which had worn off in her afternoon sleep, the rest of her make-up had shredded on her pillow, the dull neutrals covering the pillow like a canvas. He continued to watch her; her breathing pattern started to become faster. She started whimpering and fretting. He heard his name, which rattled in his mind like an empty void.

'What does this mean?' He was torturing himself now. Why did he flood her dreams? Why him? He paced up and down. He always promised that he would look after Grace, even if it meant taking a bullet for her- which he had once been prepared to do- but she didn't remember him from her past. He was uncle Sherlock. He had taken her to the zoo (which John hadn't been pleased about because she came back in tears asking why animals killed each other). But now he was no-one. Just a man who filled her dreams. Could Sherlock Holmes be feeling sentiment?

'I DON'T KNOW!' He yelled filling the spaces in the room. 'WHY?'

He shook his head and blinked several times, and turned his head to the door, where he saw John, standing there with three coffee cups and a bewildered expression written across his face.

'Should I ask?' He posed this question with a baffling tone.

'That would be a no, John.' He smiled and grabbed the cup that was being offered.

'OK.' John slumped down into the small plastic chair provided with most hospitals. 'They didn't have your coffee by the way.'

'They ran out of coffee?'

'Yes.'

'You should have given them our number. I'm always open to a new case. Especially murder' The words tipped of his tongue as if he had been saying them for years.

'I'm sorry?'

'Powers of deduction, John.' He then ruffled his hair and sat on the edge of Grace's bed.

'Right.'

'Wait. You did give them your number. The barrister liked you. Of course! Of all the cliche's John? You choose that one!' He sounded angry. Frustrated, somehow.

'Explanation please Sherlock!' John replied quickly with equally the same frustration.

'Oh, well. Look at your cup compared to mine. My tea has been spilled over my cup and the teabag has been thrown in. No care there. My name has been spelled wrong, and considering basic vocabulary, even a monkey could spell it. My cup has also been placed in what looks like nail varnish or lip-gloss. Yours however, is perfect. You can tell the water was poured in with carefulness- no splash marks, and the teabag has been set straight. She has written your name as Dr. John H Watson. Not just John. She obviously fancies you, and she is a follower of your blog, and if I'm correct, she has written her number on the bottom of the cup.'

He said this so quickly that it took a minute or two for John to register what had been said. He then proceeded to lift his cup in the air to see not only a mobile number but a smiley face and two kisses.

'So' Sherlock said finally. 'When are you going to call her?'

'I'm not.'

'You're not. You surprise me John. Why?'

'No reason.' He replied.

'There is a reason though, isn't there John.' He then assessed him, deducing everything. 'You've dressed up. You have even straightened your socks. Who for?'

'It's for you actually.' He said, blushing at the man he had had a crush on for several years. 'It's for you.'

'Oh'

**I felt Johnlock was needed today! It's been a hell of a long week! I'm sorry I haven't written in a couple of weeks but I have been swamped in homework! Please review :) Criticism is gladly appreciated, but hate shouldn't be your division! Follow me on instagram bakerstreet for your daily Sherlock fix. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi guys! Sorry I haven't posted at all in like, forever. I'm so so so sorry, but A Level work is piling up! It's an absolute nightmare! Haha! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Please continue to review! I love hearing your comments!**

Even on the worst days that the weather in England had to offer, John Watson visited his wife's grave every day. Even though she was a liar, an assassin and a psychopath, he still loved her as if she was still alive. Madness, had taken her in the end and John Watson had grown to accept it. He had slumped on the cool dark stone of her gravestone and wept, the whole event unravelling before his eyes.

_She kissed the small seven year old once on her forehead, 'It's raining, Mummy' Grace had said, 'you need to take your coat.' _

_'Don't worry darling, I'll have my coat when I get there.'_

_'Get where?'_

_'A better place for me sweetie.'_

_'So you are going to Waitrose?' The young girl stared in admiration. 'I love Waitrose. They always give me biscuits with funny faces on.'_

_'No' John had said, 'We buy you biscuits with funny faces on.' _

_'Well,' She had said, thinking deeply about it. 'It's sort of the same thing.'_

_He chuckled, ruffling her light wisps of short curly hair. 'Mary, I'll drive you to Waitrose.'_

_'John. Let me go myself.'_

_'It's a supermarket, Mary, not the end of the world.'_

_'JUST LET ME GO JOHN!'_

_And he let her. _

_That's when he got the call, Greg's sombre voice echoing down the phone. Mary Watson has been found dead._

_The most heartbreaking thing, is when he went to see the body and her coat pocket, was a packet of biscuits for Grace. Each one with a funny face._

...

Sherlock Holmes had found John Watson in the usual spot on the 11th December every year. This year, Sherlock had gone to find him after he had been missing for over an hour. It had been 17 years today. John was probably suicidal, there was a whole in John's heart that not even a bunch of dumb dates could fill. John Watson, would probably remain a permanent bachelor for the rest of his life.

**That was a very short chapter but I hope you guys liked it! I just wanted the story line to move along a bit! Please please review!**

**BakerStreetKid x**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi guys! I ****decided to centre on the three main characters this time to build the story, please tell me what you think! Enjoy!**

She came back to him in his dream, shouting angrily at his war-torn face. Her blonde cropped hair enlightened the room, like a omnipresent halo- _but she was no angel. _Her smile brought a bittersweet smile to his face, but it was the words that she was speaking that had filled him with a jealous rage. John Watson was no longer in love with Mary Elizabeth Morstan.

'Amelia.' He had spoken. 'You can go now. You are no longer my wife. You haunt my nightmares, not my dreams. So leave. Go.'

'Goodbye John.' Her voice like sherbet, smooth yet flaky. 'This isn't the end.'

And as she left, John had woken up. He was finally free.

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William Scott Sherlock Holmes gazed solemnly at the man he had been in love with for so long. Well, for a long time, he didn't know what it was- he thought it could be an illness, some sort of disease.. Molly had checked him over, and there was nothing. This genius couldn't solve the oldest predicament over time- Why am I in love? But he refused to ignore it, as if it were some disease. He would never expose his feelings to John. Except, thats what he told himself every minute of every single day. And it still wasn't working.

His thoughts were still brooding over the matter until Grace Mary Watson walked into the room.

'Sherlock' She had asked. 'I need to talk to you. It's about my dad.'

'Oh is Gordon ok?'

'Who the HELL is Gordon?'

'Gordon Lestrade. Your dad?' He had spoken as if there was nothing wrong.

'Gordon? His name is Greg, Sherlock. Where on earth did you get Gordon from?'

'Anyway. It's not about Greg. It's about John.'

There was a strange stony silence between them, until she giggled at the prospect at her dad's name being Gordon. As she smiled broadly she remembered Sherlock from when she was younger.

'I remember you.' She had spoken silently. 'You took me to the zoo, on my birthday. Dad was furious because you had taken me out without telling him. And I cried all day because one of the meerkats died. So you kept buying me donuts until I stopped.'

'I remember.' He replied. 'Your birthday was always our day. The 15th Of January 2014.'

'Only a month away now, strangely.'

'I remember, the day you were born.' He smiled. 'You were such a strange thing.'

She made her self at home, lounging in the small comforts of John's sofa as if it were her own. 'Strange?' She replied, wondering how a baby could be strange.

'Well you cried a lot. And you wouldn't stop shitting, and your volume of urine was taking it to a new extreme.'

'Anything over than my bodily functions?'

'I can't think.'

'Sherlock Holmes, can't think?'

'I don't want to.' He replied swiftly. 'You have changed so much since that little girl I used to take to the zoo. I think there's something on John's blog.'

'John's blog?' She sat up abruptly from the cradling embrace of the arm chair. 'John has a blog?'

'Yes. How I became famous.' He mockingly flung his hair as if he were some celebrity.

'You were famous. You live in a world where Olivia Moriarty is covering the headlines.' The young woman replied chucking the latest copy of HELLO! into his unwilling arms.

'Olivia Moriarty?'

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_24 years and 11 months previously-15/01/2014_

_Grace Mary Watson had been finally welcomed to the world at 11pm on the 15th of January 2014. It had been a rough evening for John, he had lost Sherlock to the lab and Mary had almost been lost to the world. Thank God it was finally over. Afghanistan was easier than this. _

_She looked peculiar, his daughter, a small shallow little thing emblazoned with a buttery complexion. Grace Watson, was finally here, she had brought happiness to his little world of doubt. Grace Watson, was an actual human being._

_'Strange little thing.' Sherlock had noted, her petal lips blowing raspberries. 'She looks like you, John'_

_'Sherlock' He growled. 'This is not the time. My daughter has just been born.'_

_'I still think you should call her sherlock.'_

_'It's not a girls name!'_

_'It is!'_

_'It isn't!'_

_Grace let out a small whimper as the argument continued. 'Ohhh,' Sherlock looked scared. 'John.' He shouted. 'John! ITS MAKING NOISES! ITS MAKING NOISES!'_

_'Sherlock. Just pick her up.'_

_'How?'_

_'Use your mind palace. There must be something on how to look after a baby in there. Coffee?'_

_'I don't just store how to look after a baby in a VALUABLE space in my mind palace John.' He grunted at the baby smiling at him. 'Black. Two sugars.'_

_'Right. Good luck, Sherlock.' And he left the room._

_'Right then,' He said to Grace. 'What we going to do? And what are you going to contribute to this?'_

_She smiled brightly at the man._

_'So. Nothing then.'_

_*10 minutes later*_

_John had walked up to the tiny hospital room, to see a sight he had never seen before in his life. William Sherlock Scott Holmes was covered in baby sick, holding his daughter upside down, and somehow had ended up with a nappy on his head? He shook his head and interrupted the little scene. _

_He had made a mental note. Never leave Sherlock Holmes alone with a baby._

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**I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please Please Please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**I am so so so so sorry that I haven't updated in weeks but school work has been taking it's toll :( I will try and upload this week but I can't really promise anything! Sorry it's a short one, but I do want to carry **

John and Grace Watson had never seen a sight like this before. It was unbelievable; unimaginable; unheard-of. William Scott Sherlock Holmes was reading a magazine. He hadn't spoken for hours- until one small word left his pale-pink lips 'Fascinating'

John coughed in amusement, 'Really, you have been reading that for an hour and that's the only thing that pops into your mind, "Fascinating", come on Sherlock, even Grace doesn't read that an more.'

'Excuse me John' She replied, 'But who do you think gave him the magazine?'

A wide smile spread across Sherlock's lips, quickly springing to his feet like a bear on hot coals, dancing around the room as if there were springs in it. 'MAPS. GET ME MAPS. AND COFFEE.'

'What did your last slave die of?' They both corused indignantly.

'Oh, and get me Gary's number.' He replied, now oblivious to the world.

They both looked at each other for a moment or two. 'Gary?' She mouthed to John. 'Who the hell is.. Ohhh..'

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Irene Adler, formerly of Eaton Place, Belgravia, was growing bored of resigning to the shadows. She hadn't changed much in 24 years, somehow, she managed to parade london wearing only a coat and a pair of Louboutins, she owned the ground she walked upon. Irene, could turn anyone, change anything. But she was bored now. She wanted something that she couldn't have.

She waited, and the door was opened.

'Good morning, Miss Adler' The new hand greeted her with a foolish smile.

Smirking, she walked up to him. 'You know who I'm here to see. Let me in.'

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She smiled. 'I can't believe you have never read a magazine before.'

'And I can't believe, Grace Mary Watson, that as a worker for the KGB that you didn't even tell me about her.'

'It's OLIVIA MORIARTY' Grace replied to the curly-haired man, as if it were common sense, 'She has a total net worth five times larger than the whole royal put together, and her house alone uses more electricity than a third world country.'

'And?' He replied. Bored.

'You can't just say "And?". Bloody hell Sherlock; yet you know who Irene Adler is.'

'Grace, you will not say that name under this roof if you value your life.' He commanded.

'I'm sorry, but she has been texting you all morning, why can't I just call her by her name.'

'BECAUSE YOU CAN'T GRACE. NOW SHUT UP AND LEAVE. YOU ARE NOT WANTED HERE ANYMORE.' His voice overpowered the room.

'Fine. Goodbye Sherlock.' She ran up to him, and kissed him on the scar that she gave to him all those years ago, on the cheekbone. 'Goodbye.'

**FEAR NOT HEDGEHOGS THIS IS NOT THE END..**


	9. Chapter 9

**WARNING: SLASH!**

**Don't worry. All will be explained. I hope you like this chapter! Please review!**

It had been 4 weeks since Grace Watson had left Baker Street, and she hadn't returned. Her collarbone had finally mended, and, she wasn't afraid anymore. But things had changed all around her. She barely saw her boyfriend, who would flit in and out at a moments notice; Greg, her father had been meeting more with a man from the government, a man who was very nice indeed, tall with fraying ginger hair and he would never say no to a piece of cake; John, would now visit regularly, his excuse being that he wanted to make up for the 17 years he was not there, and so everyday without fail, he would turn up at her door, with some biscuits; She had not seen Sherlock Holmes once, nor would she let him enter to her home, but without him, she felt a strange emptiness that she had never felt before. A gap, in her heart.

On the eve of her 25th birthday, she received a surprise, not one she was expecting either- ever since she could talk, Sherlock Holmes had taught her in the methods of deduction and together, they were able to create her mind palace, a much stronger version of Sherlock's. It was powerful, and since then, she had stored every single memory, notion and fact in the walls of her mind palace, and even though she couldn't remember Sherlock after she had left, she still kept her mind palace- so, naturally, she could usually deduce Greg and Molly's birthday surprise. It was usually the same old hat, from Greg, she would get something to do with work, usually a gun or a weapon of some sort- to which Molly would always disagree about. From Molly should would usually receive little keepsakes, sometimes a bottle of french perfume, or a piece of art. But this year,was spectacular. She would have never had deduced this in her years of existence. This was perfection.

* * *

Olivia Moriarty had grown tired of her boyfriend, dull as ever, he couldn't really do much. His best attribute was his abs, and even they were appalling. From the moment she could walk, she had got what she had wanted; Daddy, could not do enough. But Daddy was dead. Because Daddy got bored.

She sighed. Her life used to be glorious, she covered every magazine, she was at every party. She was educated at the best schools in the country. But it was all becoming very tedious. She had had enough now. Now, was the time to play.

'You there' She shouted at the nearest watchman, in a silly affected accent. 'You have a name I suppose.'

'Yes, Madam. The name is Matthew Smith.'

'Well Matty. Get me the number for Irene Adler' Olivia spoke her name with delicacy, as if it were fragile, about to break.

'Shall I say why Madam?'

'Tell her ''It's time to play."'

'Very good, Madam'

* * *

His phone buzzed irritatingly. _'Of course'_ He thought, _'What Monday morning would be complete without a text from the great Sherlock Holmes?'_

*We're out of milk. Please fix- SH*

'WHAT AN ABSOLUTE DICK!' His thoughts shouting at him. It had transpired, that this thought was not in his mind. Unfortunately, John Watson was never that discrete, he had only wished that he hadn't been at work at the time- in the paediatric ward. After several apologies, he replied to his insufferable roommate, who he ardently admired and loved, but he would never tell him that. Well, without a few beers anyway.

*Would it hurt you to go to outside and by some milk- JW*

There was silence, for about 30 seconds, until he replied again.

*Can't go. Working- SH*

_Some work. _John muttered in his mind. Sighing, he reluctantly smashed his fingers at the tiny keyboard.

*You're texting me. I hardly call that work- JW*

*And* He replied *I couldn't possibly leave Baker Street. Think of all the murderers John!- SH*

John Watson pondered for a minute, his eyebrows arching ever so slightly.

*Wait. I left the flat an hour ago, you didn't have a case then, and it's bank holiday Monday, I doubt all the murderers will be out today- JW*

*I still want some milk- SH*

* * *

It was dark and desolate in the small hotel room, thin strands of light peeked through a crack in the door. He couldn't believe it, after all these years being cheated on, he was now the cheater. When his ex-wife left him for good, he vowed never to keep any secrets, never to do anything to harm his future wife, and he would never ever cheat on someone.

But he had done it.

_And he enjoyed it. _

_'Detective Superintendent Gregory Lestrade' He said to himself. 'You can do this. You have 5 children and Grace to worry about. Cheating on Molly is not an issue. I just need to get over it. People cheat on their wife with their wife's best friend's brother all the time. Hang on, was Sherlock Molly's best friend? Well, that was besides the point. If anyone asks where he was, he was at work. No. He was on his way home from work when he saw a raccoon. No. Then he remembered Sherlock's words from all those years ago._ **_"Only lies have detail"_**_'_

He swore, all the way home. He had smashed almost everything in sight. He was overflowing with anger. It was then that he remembered, that he had forgotten to get Grace a birthday present. More smashing. More swearing.

It was safe to say Gregory Lestrade would be very late home.

* * *

She walked slowly in to the little flat she shared with Jamie in Wimbledon. It was a small apartment, from the outside it looked like an old hospital block, where the modern exterior met the ancient fraying brick of the old. The windows were large, and the whole place felt cold and clinical. But it didn't feel like that tonight. The hall was bursting with all different kinds of wild flowers, following a small trail to their apartment, from where she heard the soft crooning of Michael Buble and her mother's 'I'm trying to be subtle but I really can't whisper voice'. It all went quiet and still for a moment when she entered the room, her boots shuffling on the cold unfeeling tiles that lay attached to the floor.

Jamie stood there in the midst of it all, standing nervously with the familiar velvet of a small box tucked in his hand. Before he could even speak, she knew her reply.

**I hoped you guys liked this chapter! I wanted something interesting to happen, and happen it did! I hoped you guys liked it! Please please please review!**


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